Hold Your Breath
by The 0dd 0ne
Summary: "I read once that holding your breath could stop a panic attack." /or/ If you love something, you're supposed to let it go. It's selfish of you not to. But it's even more selfish of him to love you so unconditionally. (1st in the Hold Your Breath series) R
1. stiles (unrequitted)

s.t.i.l.e.s {u/n/r/e/q/u/i/t/e/d}

Faces are distorted, voices are torn; fading & echoing & everywhere - &_ oh God,_ you don't know what the _hell_ is happening; everything is one big swirl of chaos & nerves & _his_ face & _her_ face & nothing makes sense! You don't know what's wrong with you, but you fear the crushing sense of doom & impending anxiety breaking you down from the inside is a panic attack. If it is you're fucked, fucked, _fuck_ - _why_ can't you just _breathe?_

Through the havoc wrecking the walls & the God knows what feelings vacuuming you into nothingness that's somehow, contradictingly _(that's not even a freaking word)_ filled with everything you can hear her; she's hiding fear & doesn't know what's wrong with you. And oh God, you love her (_even if it's unrequited)_ - calm down, listen to her, you have to reassure her.

Her before you, always _(because if she can't love you then you can at least be there for her)_. Breathe, focus - _Lydia_. Focus on Lydia.

Despite the cluster-fuck of panic & fear & thoughts of _them (all 3 of them, not just _him_, that would be selfish)_ as mangled corpses just sitting, completely still, in pools of crimson, you somehow tell her what's wrong; it sounds strained, almost like it lacerates the raw inside of your throat as it comes out & you wonder if you screamed or if that nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach will come up as blood - _his_ blood or _her_ blood or _their_ blood; maybe even _your_ blood. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ - you must be going crazy._ (Or maybe you already are.)_

Everything's a haze of color & light & pain & blood & all you can see, hear, smell, _feel_ is _her_. Her & her strawberry blonde hair_ (some part of you wonders if she knows what shade your hair is by memory alone)_.

Suddenly you're _God knows where_ but she must've hooked up with _Jackson_ down here at some point _(just another reminder that she doesn't love you)_. Now everything _aches_ & you feel like shit instead of just being horrified by the bodies piling up before your shiny _(the tears you're holding in really glisten; they make your eyes look so glossy, like the lip gloss she loved to wear in the 5th grade) _brown eyes, but they're not _there_. They can't possibly be, she would be screaming - that's what Lydia does. Some part of you wonders what it would be like to hear her breathily scream out _your_ name in ecstasy as your hips thrust forward, grinding into hers _(Stiles! Stiles! Oh _God, **Stiles!**_)_, her manicured nails digging into your back & her pale, gorgeous legs wrapped around you - this part somehow gets through to your brain, plowing past the panic attack but it doesn't stay because she's telling you to think good things & she's trying to comfort you.

"Friends, family - " that one hurts & she realizes it. Your breathing is suddenly harsh & _what happened to not being able to breathe? (You could, it just didn't _feel_ like it.)_ She tells you to look at her & she's holding you like a loved one _(not just Stiles, her dorky friendish fellow smart person, but you know she doesn't love you, she can't)_ & your pulse is suddenly even more rapid. _(Just look at what she does to you.)_

Then, her red coated lips are pressed to yours & your breath _really_ stops because you seriously can't breathe now. The next thing you know, your eyes are closed & your lips move with hers & it's so _perfect_ you feel those fireworks _everyone_ talks & dreams about & a million butterflies are flapping their wings in your stomach & you no long feel like hurling & _oh God,_ you _love_ her. And for a second you think maybe she loves you too.

And then it's over & those beautiful green eyes are closed peacefully;_ did she like it?  
_  
"Why'd you do that?" It's the first thing out of your mouth & your lips are still tingling & your breath is back & you're calm now. She stutters almost incoherently for a moment, blinking as if trying to figure it out herself._ (She doesn't know because she doesn't love you.)_

"I read once that holding your breath can stop a panic attack." She begins meekly.

It rings in your head for a moment - _hold your breath._

And then you remember that she doesn't love you.


	2. lydia (selfish)

**TO ANNOYED: As you were either too cowardly to sign in or have no account, I will be writing out my response to your naive review. Yes, I did in fact write an expansion of my interpretation of the kiss scene as such stories are common on this website. As we have no cannon knowledge of what went through their heads at the time, thus making this my explanation of what built up to it. Regarding the and sign usage, I prefer it as the appearance pleases me & this writing style is a test run to see what people think of this one as my casual writing style is not similar to it.**

**Now, as you say I was "crying" for reviews. I do not recall any point where I begged people to review, I simply stated that I would like them not to simply favorite something without explaining why they "love" it enough to favorite it. Personally, I have always believed that if you wish to claim love for something, you should be capable of explaining why. That is why I wished for people to have the decency to review something they favorite or follow. If I've allegedly earned a favorite or follow, I must've earned a review to see people's interpretations & opinions on the story, correct? That was not intended as punishment of some kind, I'm intelligent enough to know what would "hurt" me, standing by my beliefs would not. My fucked up childhood on the other hand, that did. Now, to further explain what I mean by "being capable of explaining why you love something," I will demonstrate. I have loved the Harry Potter series since I first picked up book 1, ****_The Philosopher's Stone,_**** in the first grade because it has always been well written & a vast inspiration for me to write & improve myself. It was a large, joyous part of my childhood that excited me & taught me not just of Harry Potter's adventures with his friends to defeat Lord Voldermort, but of true friendship & conquering both evil in the world & your own demons. It is my belief that if you cannot explain why you love something as I just did that you do not truly love it, I simply do not wish for such people to favorite or follow my story as I would rather die following my beliefs than live betraying them. So, I believe a fuck you is in order at this point.**

You've never seen Stiles in such a miserable state. Panicked & fearful, he turns this way & that. And it scares you. You don't know what to do or what the _hell_ is wrong with him - well, you know what's wrong with him; his dad is about to be sacrificed with Scott's mom & Allison's dad. _(Th__at's a horrifying thought.)_

"Stiles, Stiles, what's wrong?" You ask him, trying to get through. There are too many thoughts in your head, it's cramped, it's scary, you don't know what's happening. _Oh God, oh God_ - what are you supposed to do _(can you even do anything?)_? How can you help him? You pray to God he's not seeing dead bodies, you're supposed to scream & find them & call Stiles, he's not supposed to fucking see them first! Maybe there's hope, maybe they aren't about to die, you haven't screamed yet, nothing is shredding your throat apart, you aren't terrified & crazy.

And _oh God,_ what's _happening?_ He's showing symptoms, signs, so many fucking signs, but he can't be having a panic attack _(no, no, no)_.

Why won't he respond, he loves you. _(Right?)_

You know you're a bitch for doubting that for even a second. "I think I'm having a panic attack."

Fuck.

You've gotta get him somewhere calm, he's gotta breathe normally, you find your feet moving on their own, your hands clutching him. He's precious, don't let go. _(Don't let go, don't _fucking _let go.)_

And _oh God,_ you swear it's getting worse & you're terrified & someone _please_ help!

You recognize the place vaguely but can't be bothered to think about it, you just hooked up with Jackson here a few times, Aiden once. But shit, you can't think about them _(__Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, oh God, Stiles!)_. How can you calm him down?

You find yourself telling him to think happy thoughts, it's stupid & dumb & you're an idiot, that won't work! You say family, _God,_ what's wrong with you? That was insensitive & you really _are _ a bitch. _Think, Lydia_, how can you stop a panic attack?

You must've read something somewhere at some point! His breathing is so harsh & he's so wide eyed & you can't think straight like this! You cup his face with your manicured hands _(how can you think of manicures with everything that's happening?)_ & look him dead in the eye, telling him to look at you . . .

The thought is in your head for a millisecond _(hold your breath)_.

Then you see his big brown eyes so scared & you remember hearing his voice begging Peter not to kill you that night & you remember him telling you you're beautiful & ice skating & him always being there. And then you're kissing him & it's amazing & beautiful & the fireworks are bigger & louder than with Jackson who you dumb yourself down for & this is Stiles who loves you & you don't deserve him.

And then you pull away, the warmth still there & your head buzzing, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. You don't deserve him. You forgot that.

He's so sweet & kind & funny & he really is handsome & sometimes you swear he's like something out of a movie even if he is the Robin to Scott's Batman, he's the best Robin of them all.

And you're a bitch & you're selfish & how has he liked you since the third grade? He doesn't deserve to just wait & wait & _wait_ for her to be good enough for him.

_(set him free)_

You hate that little voice for being right because you're selfish & _God damn it,_ you want him so, so much.

But you listen to it when he asks why you did that.


End file.
